UC-NRLF 


/.:WOfHEK  POEMS 


T744 


THE    QUIET    SINGER 


THE  QUIET  SINGER 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

CHARLES  HANSON  TOWNE 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KEN7NERLEY 
1914 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
B.  W.  DODGE  &  COMPANY 

Registered  at  Stationers'1  Hall,  London 
(All  Rights  Reserved] 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO  MY  MOTHER 


For  the  privilege  of  reprinting  the  poems  in 
cluded  in  this  volume,  special  acknowledgment  is 
due  to  the  editors  of  The  Century,  The  Smart 
Set,  Youth's  Companion,  Harper's  Bazar,  The 
Bookman,  The  Independent,  The  Cosmopolitan, 
Lippincott's,  Applet  on' s,  Ainslee's,  Metropolitan, 
Reader,  Everybody's,  Broadway,  Munsey's,  Life, 
and  others. 


* 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  QUIET  SINGER I 

ELUDED 4 

A  DISTANT  SPRING 5 

SONG 7 

THE  SILENCES 8 

AUGUST  IN  THE  CITY 9 

THE  LOVER — IN  APRIL 10 

SPRING  RAPTURE n 

THE  BOAST 12 

LOVE,  THE  VICTOR 13 

THE  FOOTFARER 15 

MIRACLE 17 

A  MOTHER 18 

THE  KING 19 

A  ROSE  WHISPERS 22 

AWAITED 23 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  NATIVITY 24 

UNDERSTANDING 26 

THE  DEPTH  OF  LOVE 27 

UNANSWERED 28 

SURRENDER 29 

RAIN  ON  THE  ROOF 30 

THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  HEART 31 

REMOTE 32 

THE  GLADNESS  OF  SPRING 33 

A  SUNSET 34 

ESTRANGEMENT 35 

DEATH  AT  MORNING 36 

RENEWAL 37 

[far] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  MAN'S  PRAYER 39 

A  SONG  OF  CITY  TRAFFIC 40 

SELFISHNESS 43 

REMEMBRANCE 44 

AERE  PERENNIUS 45 

THE  GREAT  AND  SILENT  THINGS 46 

DISTANCES 47 

HAUNTED 48 

VlLLANELLE 50 

I  COUNT  THE  DAYS 51 

FULFILMENT 52 

RESURRECTION 53 

TILL  EULENSPIEGEL 54 

THE  POET 56 

THE  FLAME 57 

IN  THE  MEADOWS  OF  THE  SKY. 58 

THE  MOSQUES 59 

THE  WOMAN'S  WAY 60 

IN  THE  NIGHT 62 

HOPE 63 

LOVE  OF  BEAUTY 64 

THE  PROCESSION 65 

LOVE  AND  TIME 66 

AN  AUTUMN  LEAF 67 

ONE  MOMENT  OF  DOUBT 68 

PARTING 69 

THE  ROOM 70 

AFTER  DROUGHT 71 

INDIAN  SUMMER 72 

AT  NIGHTFALL 73 

QUATRAINS 

PREPARATION 77 

CERTAINTY 78 

THE  FRIENDS 79 

A  WINTER  DREAM 80 

[x] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SEPTEMBER 81 

THE  GOOD  QUEEN 82 

UNHAPPINESS 83 

CARE 84 

SONNETS 

THE  PROMISE 87 

CITY  CHILDREN 88 

AFTER  READING  KEATS 89 

How  BRAVELY  Now  I  FACE  THE  MARCHING  DAYS.  90 

A  BROKEN  FRIENDSHIP 91 

SONGS    OF    NEW   YORK 

FIFTH  AVENUE  AT  NIGHT 95 

BROADWAY 96 

DOWNTOWN 97 

NEW  BUILDINGS 98 

THE  LIGHTS 99 

To  A  HURDY-GURDY IOO 

TRAFFIC 101 

THE  VOICES 102 

NEXT  DOOR 103 

THE  PARKS 104 

A  CITY  SUNSET 105 

SONGS    OUT    OF   THE    ORIENT 

A  BAGHDAD  LOVER 109 

FROM  A  BAGHDAD  WINDOW 1 18 

A  LOVER  IN  DAMASCUS 124 

CERTAIN  FRAGMENTS  FROM  THE  ARABIC 130 


[xi] 


THE  QUIET  SINGER 


(Ave!  Francis  Thompson) 

HE  had  been  singing — but  I  had  not  heard  his 
voice ; 

He  had  been  weaving  lovely  dreams  of  song, 
O  many  a  morning  long. 
But  I,  remote  and  far, 
Under  an  alien  star, 
Listened  to  other  singers,  other  birds, 
And  other  silver  words. 

But  does  the  skylark,  singing  sweet  and  clear, 
Beg  the  cold  world  to  hear  ? 
Rather  he  sings  for  very  rapture  of  singing, 
At  dawn,  or  in  the  blue,  mild  Summer  noon, 
Knowing  that,  late  or  soon, 

His  wealth  of  beauty,  and  his  high  notes,  ringing 
Above  the  earth,  will  make  some  heart  rejoice. 
He  sings,  albeit  alone, 
Spendthrift  of  each  pure  tone, 
Hoarding  no  single  song, 
No  cadence  wild  and  strong. 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 

But  one  day,  from  a  friend  far  overseas, 
As  if  upon  the  breeze, 

There  came  the  teeming  wonder  of  his  words — 
A  golden  troop  of  birds, 
Caged  in  a  little  volume  made  to  love; 
Singing,  singing, 
Flinging,  flinging 

Their  breaking  hearts  on  mine,  and  swiftly  bring 
ing 
Tears,  and  the  peace  thereof. 

How  the  world  woke  anew ! 

How  the  days  broke  anew ! 

Before  my  tear-blind  eyes  a  tapestry 

I  seemed  to  see, 

Woven  of  all  the  dreams  dead  or  to  be. 

Hills,  hills  of  song,  Springs  of  eternal  bloom, 

Autumns  of  golden  pomp  and  purple  gloom 

Were  hung  upon  his  loom. 

Winters  of  pain,  roses  with  awful  thorns, 

Yet    wondrous    faith    in    God's    dew-drenched 

morns — 

These,  all  these  I  saw, 
With  that  ecstatic  awe 
Wherewith  one  looks  into  Eternity. 

And  then  I  knew  that,  though  I  had  not  heard 

His  voice  before, 

His  quiet  singing,  like  some  quiet  bird 

At  some  one's  distant  door, 

[2] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 

Had  made  my  own  more  sweet ;  had  made  it  more 
Lovely,  in  one  of  God's  miraculous  ways. 
I  knew  then  why  the  days 

Had  seemed  more  perfect  to  me  when  the  Spring 
Came  with  old  burgeoning ; 

For  somewhere  in  the  world  his  voice  was  raised, 
And  somewhere  in  the  world  his  heart  was  break 
ing; 

And  never  a  flower  but  knew  it,  sweetly  taking 
Beauty  more  high  and  noble  for  his  sake, 
As  a  whole  wood  grows  lovelier  for  the  wail 
Of  one  sad  nightingale. 

Yet,  if  the  Springs  long  past 

Seemed  wonderful  before  I  heard  his  voice, 

I  tremble  at  the  beauty  I  shall  see 

In  seasons  still  to  be, 

Now  that  his  songs  are  mine  while  Life  shall  last. 

O  now  for  me 

New  floods  of  visions  open  suddenly.  .  .  . 

Rejoice,  my  heart !    Rejoice 

That  you  have  heard  the  Quiet  Singer's  voice ! 


[3] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


ELUDED 

DEEP  in  the  night  I  heard 
The  rain's  mysterious  word. 
(It  was  as  if  an  old  love  spoke,  a  dead  love 
sobbed  and  stirred.) 

Deep  in  the  night  the  great  voice  of  the  rain 
Called  at  my  window-pane. 
(A  voice  more  sad  shall  nevermore  sing  at  my 
heart  again.) 

0  deep  within  the  night,  the  last  stars  gone, 

1  heard  the  rain  pass  on. 

(No  lost  love  stepped  within  my  room — only  the 
pallid  dawn!) 


[4] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


A  DISTANT  SPRING 

I   WHO  love  the  Spring  so  well 
Shall  be  sleeping,  some  glad  day, 
When  her  hosts  come  back  to  dwell 
In  their  old,  familiar  way. 

I  shall  live,,  alas !  no  more 
In  some  distant  April  hour, 

When  the  Spring  flings  wide  her  door, 
Calling  leaf,  and  bloom,  and  flower. 

I  shall  sleep — but  I  shall  dream 
In  my  home  beneath  the  ground, 

And  my  slumbering  heart  shall  teem 
WTith  its  visions  deep,  profound. 

I  shall  know,  ere  you  will  guess 

(Though  with  life  I  have  no  part), 

Wliat  new  golden  loveliness 

Stirs  within  the  old  earth's  heart 

I  shall  hear  the  first  soft  sound 
When  the  Spring  is  born  anew, 

And  rejoice,  beneath  the  ground, 
At  the  bliss  to  come  to  you. 

[5] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 

And  the  dreams  that  I  shall  dream, 
In  that  Spring  when  I  am  dead, 

May  arise  until  they  seem 

Blossoms  white  and  blossoms  red ! 


[6] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


SONG 

I   SAW  the  day's  white  rapture 
Die  in  the  sunset's  flame, 
But  all  her  shining  beauty 
Lives  like  a  deathless  name. 

Our  lamps  of  joy  are  wasted, 
Gone  is  Love's  hallowed  light; 

But  you  and  I  remember 
Through  every  starlit  night. 


[7] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


THE  SILENCES 

I   LEFT  the  throbbing  city's  thundering  mart 
For  the  great  patience  that  the  hills  impart, 
For  the  white  quiet  of  the  steadfast  hills  (O  the 
great  hills'  deep  heart !) 

I  left  the  clamor  of  the  world ;  I  flew 
Back  to  the  olden  peace  I  one  time  knew, 
Back  to  the  waiting  restfulness,  back  to  the  heart 
of  you ! 


[8] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


AUGUST  IN  THE  CITY 

THE  brooding  hours,  through  the  dull  after 
noon.. 

Pause,  while  a  torrid  sun  flames  in  the  sky. 
(O  heart  of  mine,  dream  of  a  long,  cool  dune, 
Where  breezes  wander  by!) 

Hemmed  in  by  granite  walls,  the  very  paves 
Grow  worn  and  weary  with  the  ceaseless  heat 

(O  heart,  dream  of  a  shore  where  foam-flecked 

waves 
Surge,  crash,  and  wildly  beat!) 

The  sad  hours  creep  toward  the  dim  light  of 
dusk — 

Ah !  how  each  laggard  moment  slowly  goes ! 
(O  heart,  dream  of  a  garden  filled  with  musk 

And  the  sweet  scent  of  rose !) 

The  sun  goes  down  at  last,  and  lo !  a  breeze 
Pours  through  the  mighty  cavern  of  the  streets. 

(O  sleeping  heart,  dream  of  unsheltered  seas 
Where  the  glad,  fresh  rain  beats!) 


[9] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


THE  LOVER— IN  APRIL 

THOU  hast  come  back  to  me ! 
(Thou  who  didst  die  a  year  ago, 
And  slept  so  many  days  beneath  the  snow) 
Thou  hast  come  back  to  me ! 
Now  that  the  buds  break  on  the  hawthorn-tree, 
And  the  old  gladness  of  the  earth  revives, 
Thou  hast  come  back  to  me 
In  the  dear  hyacinth  and  white  anemone. 

The  Spring's  great  resurrection  is  thine  own ! 

This  fragrance  of  young  blossoms  is  thy  breath  ; 

This  silence  is  thy  spiritual  tread — 

Thou  art  no  longer  dead ! 

Who  is  it,  dear,  that  saith 

Thy  body  is  in  the  bondage  of  strong  Death? 

Nay,  from  the  darkness,  on  the  light  winds  blown, 

Thou  hast  come  back  to  me 

In  the  dear  hyacinth  and  white  anemone ! 


[10] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


SPRING  RAPTURE 

ONCE  more  the  Spring's  exultant  joy 
And  flowery  dream  have  come  to  pass ; 
Once  more  the  birth  of  hawthorn  white, 
The  green  revival  of  the  grass. 

Again  the  pageant  of  the  leaves, 

The  fragrance  of  the  cherry-boughs; 

Again  the  April  glamour  comes, 

Again  the  young  Spring's  wild  carouse ! 

O  heart  of  mine,  once  more  for  you 

The  world  awakes  with  bloom  and  song ; 

Hushed  are  the  voices  of  old  Grief, 
And  vanished  is  the  face  of  Wrong. 

The  April  paean  rings  again, 

Spring's  flowery  dream  has  come  to  pass, 
And  who  shall  weep  when  Love  has  given 

The  green  revival  of  the  grass  ? 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


THE  BOAST 

I   DO  not  need  you  now !    Thus  do  I  end 
Our  days  together,  O  beloved  friend ; 
Thus  do  I  shake  all  remnants  of  the  past 
Out  of  my  life ;  and  thus  I  say  at  last, 
"I  do  not  need  you  now !" 

I  do  not  need  you  now !    Our  love  is  done, 
And  in  this  hour  of  parting,  one  by  one 
I  watch  the  years  we  spent  together  fade 
Into  the  cold  oblivion  I  have  made. 
I  do  not  need  you  now ! 

I  do  not  need  you  now !    The  faith  is  gone 
That  made  our  love,  from  dawn  to  silver  dawn, 
A  thing  most  wonderful.    Bravely  I  cry 
(Exulting  in  the  shame  of  my  deep  He!), 
"I  do  not  need  vou  now !" 


[12] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


LOVE,  THE  VICTOR 

TIME  was,  O  Love,  when  I  a  vassal  knelt, 
Obedient,  at  the  footstool  of  thy  throne ; 
When  all  my  life  was  thine — yea,  every  thought 
Thy  very  own. 

Yet,  when  I  hungered  most,  and  prayed  that  thou 
Wouldst  give  to  me  some  little  that  I  gave, 

Thou  didst  but  mock  me,  knowing  what  I  was — 
Thy  willing  slave. 

Yet,  though  fast  bound  in  shackle  and  in  chain, 
Pride  rose  in  me,  and  thou  wert  cast  aside; 

And  long  I  blessed  the  day  when  thou  from  me 
Wentst  forth  and  died. 

How  long  ago  it  was  I  broke  my  thrall ! 

How  long  since  I  have  kept  apart  from  thee, 
Vowing  that  nevermore  my  heart  should  know 

Thy  tyranny ! 

And  yet  to-day  I  felt  the  old  desire, 

After  long  years  of  freedom  from  thy  reign; 
And  I  have  dreamed,  full  many  a  night,  of  Love's 

Exquisite  pain. 

[13] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 

No  strength  of  mine  can  hold  thee  back,  O  Love ! 

I  thought  that  I  was  safe  beyond  thy  will ; 
But  after  long,  long  years,  lo !  here  am  I, 

Obedient  still ! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  FOOTFARER 

NOW  that  Spring  is  in  the  land, 
Now  that  April  wakes  the  wood, 
I  would  take  my  scrip  in  hand, 
Roving  with  old  Solitude. 

I  would  leave  the  haunts  of  men, 
All  the  rabble  of  the  mart; 

I  would  be  a  child  again, 

Close  upon  my  Mother's  heart. 

Being  kin  to  every  star 

In  the  marvellous  Spring  nights, 
I  would  journey  forth  afar, 

Drinking  in  long-lost  delights. 

For  the  world  was  made  for  me, 

I  who  love  her  music  so ; 
I  was  meant  for  Arcady, 

Where  the  April  tides  sing  low. 

I  would  lie  upon  the  breast 
Of  my  Mother  all  day  long — 

She  who  eases  my  unrest 
With  her  musical  low  song. 

[15] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 

She  it  is  who  calls  me  forth 
When  the  Springtide  winds  begin, 

That,  in  faring  south  or  north, 
I  can  cease  to  think  of  sin ; 

Yea,  and  even  when  the  rain 
Of  sweet  April  falls  on  me, 

I  can  hear  a  loved  refrain 
In  the  welcome  minstrelsy; 

Glad  because  I  am  without, 
Following  my  vagrant  will, 

Putting  all  my  cares  to  rout 
When  I  feel  the  first  new  thrill. 

Mother !  I  would  forth  with  you, 

I  would  take  your  outstretched  hand ; 

Let  us  fare  amid  the  dew, 

Now  that  Spring  is  in  the  land. 


[16] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


MIRACLE 

THAT  in  your  absence  I  can  feel  this  thrill 
Pulsing  my  inmost  soul ;  that  I  can  know 
Such  wonder  and  such  ecstasy,  until 
I  marvel  at  the  heights  whereto  I  go, 

Deem  it  not  strange,  beloved ;  every  hour 

Is  white  with  consecration  pure  and  true ; 
Then,  wherefore  wakes  my  heart  like  some  glad 

flower  ? 

O  hush,  and  hark!    There  came  a  thought  of 
you ! 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


A   MOTHER 

IT  rained  all  day  the  day  she  died, 
And  yet  she  thought  it  sweet  and  fair ; 
She  said  the  sunlight  kissed  her  hair, 
And  then  she  slept,  all  satisfied. 

It  rained  all  day ;  she  woke  again, 
And  whispered  that  the  sky  was  blue. 
Ah  me !  thank  God  she  never  knew 

How  cold  and  dreary  fell  the  rain. 

So  like  her  life  !    It  rained  all  day, 

And  yet  she  thought  it  all  was  bright ; 
She  loved  and  toiled  through  day  and  night- 
She  never  thought  the  skies  were  gray. 


[18] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


THE  KING 

JAM  the  king  of  a  wide  domain,  and  you  deem 
it  a  wonderful  thing; 

But  the  kingly  height  is  a  terrible  height — God 
pity  the  lonely  king! 

Heed  this,  O  you  who  envy  me  my  purple,  and 

pomp,  and  clan; 
Thank  Him  who  made  you,  and  made  us  all,  that 

He  made  you  a  Common  Man ! 

What  of  the  pride  and  the  glory  of  name,  the 

absolute  wealth  of  the  land, 
When  what  I  need  and  crave  the  most  is  the 

clasp  of  a  comrade's  hand? 

But  king  am  I  of  a  vast  domain,  and  crowned  by 

a  foolish  fate, 
While  a  foolish  world  bows  down  to  me  and  dares 

to  call  me  great. 

My  ships  fare  forth  to  the  open  sea,  my  mariners 

speed  afar, 
Where  the  sweet  adventure,  the  risk,  and  the  loss, 

and  the  wonderful  conflict  are. 

[19] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 

My  soldiers  fly  to  the  far-off  hills  at  the  sound  of 

the  cannon's  call. 
But  the  helpless  king,  and  the  lonely  king,  he 

bides  in  his  palace  hall. 

O  for  a  glimpse  of  the  wide,  great  world,  and  a 

taste  of  the  life  that  is  true — 
A  taste  of  the  life  that  is  yours,  and  yours  !    O  for 

the  larger  view! 

To  march,  uncrowned,  with  the  eager  throng  that 

moves  on  the  white  highway, 
To  know  their  mirth,  their  tears,  their  loves,  the 

hopes  of  their  golden  day ; 

To  sing  with  them,  and  to  lift  his  voice  with  the 
horde  of  the  Common  Men — 

This  is  the  prayer  the  monarch  prays,  again, 
again,  and  again ! 

Out  in  the  heart  of  the  golden  Spring  I  know 

where  banners  wave 
More  bright  than  the  pennons  that  are  mine  own, 

more  beautiful  and  brave. 

Crown  me  with  freedom  of  the  hills,  and  place 

upon  my  lip 
A  song  of  the  honest  brotherhood  and  the  noble 

fellowship ! 

[20] 


AND    OTHER    POEMS 

Make  me  the  equal  of  other  men  !    O  let  it  not  be 

said 
No  humble  heart  may  walk  with  me  the  foolish 

height  I  tread ! 

Let  me  out  where  the  teeming  flood  pours  toward 
Life's  open  sea, 

And  let  me  walk  the  way  of  man  with  all  hu 
manity. 

Bitter  the  heart  that  beats  in  my  breast  when  I 

hear  the  clamor  of  life, 
And  know  that  the  world  so  far  from  me  gives 

me  no  part  in  its  strife. 

They  prate  the  joy  of  rulers ;  yea,  they  cry  the 

glory  of  kings, 
But  few  may  know  what  loneliness  about  a  great 

throne  clings. 

Sadly  I  reign  in  my  palace  place,  and  none  may 

understand 
How  much  I  crave  the  world's  turmoil  and  the 

clasp  of  a  comrade's  hand. 

/  am  the  king  of  a  wide  do-raain,  and  you  deem  it 

a  wonderful  thing; 
But  the  kingly  height  is  a  terrible  height — God 

pity  the  lonely  king! 

[21] 


THE  QUIET  SINGER 


A  ROSE  WHISPERS 

JAM  the  flower  within  her  garden-close 
She  cast  aside; 

Ah !  had  she  plucked  me,  verily,  God  knows 
I  had  not  died. 

I  would  have  fought  a  battle  with  strong  Death, 

And  bloomed  anew, 
Finding  sweet  resurrection  in  her  breath 

The  long  day  through ; 

And  had  she  laid  me  on  her  trembling  heart, 

New  fire  had  sprung 
Into  my  crimson  petals'  every  part, 

And  made  me  young. 

Yea,  I  for  her  had  lived  again ;  but  O, 

She  passed  me  by, 
And  now,  neglected,  in  the  night  I  go 

Softly— to  die ! 


[22] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


AWAITED 

A   LTHOUGH  I  dare  to  say 
r\     My  heart  untarnished  is  from  day  to  day, 
Tis  not,  O  Love,  that  any  strength  of  mine 
Has  kept  all  white  the  shrine. 

But  as  I  now  look  back 
Across  the  years  that  span  the  weary  track. 
All  the  dear  deeds  I  ever  strove  to  do 
Were  done  because  of  you. 

All  the  white  thoughts  I  had 
Were  but  pure  flowers,  one  day  to  make  you  glad ; 
Every  improving  act,  each  little  grace, 
Humbly,  dear  one,  I  trace 

Back  to  my  hope  of  you, 
Long,  long  before  your  wondrous  face  I  knew. 
Ah !  your  white  coming,  silent  and  unseen, 
Made  me  and  kept  me  clean ! 


[23] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  NATIVITY 

NOW  it  was  Mary  dreamed  this  dream, 
Ere  yet  her  Child  was  born 
In  that  poor  place  in  Bethlehem, 

In  that  poor  stall  forlorn, 
Before  the  dark  of  night  had  fled 
From  the  white  face  of  morn. 

She  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  this  dream, 
That  filled  her  heart  with  fear — 

That  she  had  died  that  One  might  live 
Whose  life  was  very  dear, 

And  that  she  never  saw  His  face 
Or  dried  His  earliest  tear. 

She  dreamed  that  her  own  life  went  out — 

Her  life  divinely  sweet — 
Ere  she  could  press  His  little  hands 

Or  kiss  His  little  feet, 
Or  know  the  bliss  that  was  to  make 

Her  womanhood  complete. 

She  dreamed  she  died  before  she  knew 

The  trembling  joy  to  say, 
"I  am  a  mother — I,  whose  life 

So  bleak  was  yesterday! 
I  know  at  last  that  perfect  hour 

For  which  all  women  pray !" 

[24] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 

O  strangely  came  this  dream  to  her, 

This  dream  of  utter  woe, 
While  through  the  dark  Judean  night, 

Above  the  wastes  of  snow, 
A  star  flamed  in  the  midnight  heaven 

And  set  the  East  aglow. 

And  ere  the  pallid  dawn  had  come 

To  break  her  sacred  rest, 
She  wakened,  with  a  startled  moan, 

And  tears  the  bitterest, 
And  lo !  she  felt  two  little  hands 

Clasped  close  upon  her  breast! 


[25] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


UNDERSTANDING 

FLASH  of  steel  and  crash  of  drum- 
Love  that  way  has  never  come. 
But  adown  some  quiet  night 
She  has  winged  her  silent  flight, 
And  no  heart  but  failed  to  hear 
Her  soft  presence  drawing  near. 

Boom  of  guns  in  long  array — 
Love  has  never  gone  that  way. 
But  with  quiet  step  and  slow, 
Hand  upon  her  pale  lips — so 
Love  goes  out  in  some  white  dawn— 
O  we  know  when  she  has  gone! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  DEPTH  OF  LOVE 

BECAUSE  he  brought  no  tears  to  her  dear 
grave, 

Many  and  many  there  were 
Who  whispered,  when  no  single  sign  he  gave, 
"He  never  cared  for  her." 

But  down  within  the  silence  of  his  soul 

A  surging  ocean  swept ; 
Yet  none  could  see  the  current  onward  roll, 

The  tides  that  never  slept. 

Because  I  stand  in  silence  when  your  eyes 

Look  softly  into  mine ; 
Because  no  words  to  my  poor  lips  arise, 

Because  I  give  no  sign; 

There  are,  perchance,  those  who  would  dare  to 
say 

There  is  no  heart  in  me. 
Beloved,  let  them  cry !    Be  glad  that  they 

Can  never  sound  our  sea. 


[27] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


UNANSWERED 

HOW  shall  I  know  her,  God,  in  that  great 
world, 

After  the  grief  of  this  is  past  and  gone? 
How  shall  I  know  her  when  our  souls  are  hurled 
Like  atoms  thro'  the  night  ?  On  that  white  dawn 
How  shall  I  know  it  is  her  face  that  I  shall  look 
upon? 

Wan  spirits,  we  shall  journey  thro*  Thy  land, 
The  mist-like  wraiths  of  what  we  used  to  be ; 

O  shall  I  know  the  pressure  of  her  hand, 
And  shall  I  recognize  her  call  to  me, 
As  I  do  now?    Is  love  the  same  thro'  all  eter 
nity  ? 

How  shall  I  know  her,  God  ?    I  ask  but  this, 

To  be  assured — a  child  who  is  dismayed. 
Let  me  be  told  that  I  shall  feel  her  kiss. 

.  .  .  There  is   no  answer!     Lo!  my  faith  is 

weighed. 

Ah !  somehow  I  shall  know  her,  God.    Hush ! 
Love  is  not  afraid! 


[28] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


SURRENDER 

SO  hard  I  strove  to  crowd  you  from  my  heart, 
You  who  once  loved,  but  love  me  now  no 

more; 

Yet  all  the  weary  night  your   face  would  start 
Out  of  the  blackness  and  the  midnight's  door, 
And  smile — to  mock  me ! — as  it  did  of  yore. 

Why  is  it  that  your  name  is  on  my  tongue 
When  the  gray  dawn  first  creeps  across  the 
hill? 

Why  is  it,  ere  the  lark  his  song  has  sung, 
Your  voice  is  in  my  brain,  and  singing  still 
The  old,  old  love  that  taunts  my  weakened  will  ? 

There  is  no  shore  that  can  resist  the  sea ! 

O  I  have  striven  to  forget,  in  vain ; 
So  give  me  now  the  olden  memory, 

Come,  if  you  will,  through  distance  and  bleak 
rain; 

Come,  if  you  will,  although  you  bring  me  pain ! 


[29] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


RAIN  ON  THE  ROOF 

LOUD  on  my  roof  the  regiments  of  rain 
March  with  their  old  insistence,  and  I  hear 
Troop  after  troop,  column  and  troop  again, 
Sweep  by  before  Dawn's  shining  hosts  appear. 

O  armies  of  the  night,  your  rhythmic  tramp 
Lures  me  at  last  to  the  dim  bourne  of  Sleep, 

And  you  and  I  find  peace  in  some  far  camp 
Where  only  Silence  and  her  legions  creep. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  HEART 

I   HAVE  made  empty  all  my  heart  for  you ! 
I  have  shut  out  the  mad  noise  of  the  world, 
Closed  every  window,  made  the  doors  fast,  too ; 
And  from  each  chamber  to  the  winds  have 

hurled 
Old   thoughts,    old   base    desires,   old    sins,    old 

stains ; 

Yea,  swept  my  heart  as  all  the  earth  is  swept  by 
April  rains. 

Down  the  long  corridors  there  is  no  sound ! 

I  wait  but  for  your  entrance  through  the  door, 
Your  footfall  in  my  heart's  great  vacant  ground, 

Your  voice  to  sing  and  sing  forevermore — 
Your  voice  alone  to  make  the  old  house  thrill 
With  the  vast  knowledge  that  your  love  wakes  all 
that  once  was  still ! 

There  shall  be  gladness  when  you  come  to  me ! 
Your  thoughts,  not  mine,  shall  enter  in  this 

place. 

O  Love !  behold  how  white  each  room  shall  be, 
And  you  shall  make  all  whiter  of  your  grace ! 
Come  to  this  quiet  house,  this  heart  of  mine — 
It  is  no  longer  part  of  me,  but  all  is  thine,  is 
thine ! 

[31] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


REMOTE 

SOMEWHERE,  perchance,  there  is  a  love 
That  one  day  I  may  gain  ; 
But  O,  it  is  so  very  far, 

Through  darkness  and  the  rain ! 

And  yet  more  distant  than  the  dream 

Of  joy  that  still  may  be 
Is  that  old  love  gone  softly  down 

The  aisles  of  Memory! 


1 32] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  GLADNESS  OF  SPRING 

WHEN  Spring,  with  blossom-haunted  lanes, 
With  sudden  gusts  of  rippling  rains, 
Came  dancing  down  the  glad  young  year, 
How  soon  my  heart  forgot  its  fear ! 

"When  I  had  heard  the  lyric  note 
That  floated  from  the  robin's  throat, 
How  soon  the  sad  song  in  my  breast 
Sought  a  deep  silence,  a  deep  rest ! 

Now  who  had  dreamed  the  April  rain 
Could  cleanse  a  heart  of  all  its  pain? 
And  who  had  thought  one  little  bird 
Could  hush  a  soul's  discordant  word? 


[33] 


THE  QUIET  SINGER 


A  SUNSET 

FAR  in  the  gold-embroidered  west 
The  round  and  red  sun  lay, 
Like  a  great  wound  upon  the  breast 
Of  the  slow-dying  day. 

Night,  and  a  murmur  from  the  east ; 

I  heard  the  wind's  voice  roll 
Out  of  the  dark,  a  solemn  priest, 

Speeding  the  day's  white  soul. 


[34] 


AND   OTHER  POEMS 


ESTRANGEMENT 

IT  was  so  hard  to  say  good-bye, 
To  drift  apart  from  you ; 
But  harder  still  to  live  the  lie 

That  swept  the  long  years  through, 

O  better  far  it  were  that  we 

Down  different  paths  should  stray; 

Better  that  we  should  part  than  be 
So  close,  yet  far  away ! 


[35] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


DEATH  AT  MORNING 

SHE  died  when  dawn  was  sweeping  o'er  the 
land, 

When  morning-glories  lit  the  gleaming  wall; 

And  one  who  watched  her,  holding  her  pale  hand, 

Whispered,  "Alas !  that  she  should  miss  it  all !" 

The  early  sun,  risen  from  his  dark  night, 

Flamed  his  great  banners  when  she  went  away ; 

And  one  said,  uLo!  at  coming  of  the  light 

She  has  gone   forth,  and   lost  the  beauteous 
day." 

But  she,  from  her  poor  mortal  house  of  pain 
Gladly  released,  went  singing  to  God's  place, 

And  cried,  "Dear  Lord,  after  the  bleak  world- 
rain, 
I  cannot  bear  the  brightness  of  Thy  face !" 


[36] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


RENEWAL 

APRIL,  when  I  heard 
Your  lyrical  low  word, 

And  when  upon  the  hawthorn  hedge  your  first 
white  blossoms  stirred, 

Something  strangely  came — 
Something  I  cannot  name — 
And  touched  my  heart,  and  cleansed  my  soul  with 
a  reviving  flame. 

When  the  yellow  gleam 
Of  your  hosts  that  stream — 
Jonquil,  buttercup,  and  crocus — made  the  world 
a  golden  dream, 

Something,  April,  said 
To  my  heart  that  bled — 

Bled    with   old   remembrance — "Lo!    the    grief- 
strewn  days  are  fled!" 

Sursinn  corda!    Now, 
When  blooms  the  apple-bough, 
April,  of  your  pity,  let  your  light  rain  kiss  my 
brow ; 

[37] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 

Heal  me,  if  you  will  ; 
Bathe  my  heart  until 

I  am  one  with  your  first  primrose  or  the  shining 
daffodil ! 


[38] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


A  MAN'S  PRAYER 

1DO  not  crave  that  deathless  fame 
That  is  the  valiant  soldier's  part ; 
I  only  wish  to  write  my  name 
Within  a  woman's  heart; 

To  make  my  love  so  perfect  seem 

The  world  shall  say,  my  glad  days  through, 
"That  life  he  lived — it  was  a  dream 

Too  wondrous  to  be  true !" 


[39] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


A  SONG  OF  CITY  TRAFFIC 

I   HAVE  heard  the  roar  and  clamor  through  the 
city's  crowded  ways 
Of  the  never-ending  pageant  moving  down  the 

busy  days — 

Coaches,  wagons,  hearses,  engines,  clanging  cars, 
and  thundering  drays ! 

I  have  watched  them  moving  past  me  as  the  day 

began  to  dawrn; 
I  have  watched  them  creeping  onward  when  the 

sun's  last  light  was  gone, 
Like  a  serpent  long  and  sinuous,  gliding  on,  and 

on,  and  on. 

Never,  since  I  can  remember,  has  this  long  pro 
cession  ceased; 

Rather  has  the  surging  torrent  ever  lengthened 
and  increased, 

And  the  human  traffic  changed  not — prince  and 
beggar,  fool  and  priest. 

They  have  marched,  and  still  are  marching, 
through  the  city's  wilderness — 

O  the  sadness  of  their  going  who  shall  know  or 
who  shall  guess? 

[40] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 

Prophet,  lady,  sage,  and  merchant,  cap-and-bells 
in  wisdom's  dress ! 

Ah !  poor  throngs  of  the  great  city,  drops  within 

that  mighty  stream, 
When  the  night  descends  upon  you  and  the  streets 

are  all  agleam, 
Of  some  distant  hills  of  silence  do  your  worn 

hearts  never  dream  ? 

When  the  brazen  voice  of  traffic  and  the  loud  call 

of  the  mart 
Strangle  all  the  hope  within  you,  bruise  your  soul 

and  break  your  heart, 
Do  you  think  of  some  far  valley  where  life  plays 

another  part? 

Sometimes  in  your  startled  slumbers,  ere  the  morn 

comes  up  again, 
Do  you  dream  of  some  blue  mountain  or  some 

wonderful  green  glen, 
Where  the  silver  voice  of  silence  calls  the  weary 

world  of  men  ? 

O  perhaps  you  dream,  as  I  do,  of  the  quiet  wood 
land  ways ; 

But  the  long  procession  lures  you  through  the 
fleeting  nights  and  days, 

And  you  miss  the  old,  old  beauty  for  which  still 
your  spirit  prays; 

[41] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 

Miss  it  all,  and,  missing,  weep  not ;  join  once  more 

the  bands  of  trade, 
Join  again  the  city's  tumult,  that  long  clamoring 

parade — 
Join  once  more  the  foolish  struggle  which  not 

God,  but  man,  has  made ! 

Losing  love  and  losing  friendship,  making  life 

but  wounds  and  scars  ; 
Missing  beauty  and  calm  rapture,  and  the  shelter 

of  the  stars — 
Poor,  sad  mortals,  hearing  only  noise  of  wheels 

and  clang  of  cars  ! 


[42] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


SELFISHNESS 

HPHERE  is  so  much  that  you  can  give  to  m< 
1       I  cannot  bring  you  anything  at  all, 
Save  worship  and  the  little,  tender  words 
My  lips  let  fall. 

But  you — oh,  you  can  feed  my  hungry  heart, 
And  you  can  fill  my  chalice  soul  with  wine, 

Till  I  grow  drunk  with  drinking,  marvelling 
At  love  like  thine. 

How  selfishly  I  come  to  beg  all  this, 

I  who  can  give  you  nothing,  dear,  at  all, 

Save  worship  and  the  little,  grateful  words 
My  lips  let  fall. 


[431 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


REMEMBRANCE 

LOVE  was  with  me  yesterday — 
In  the  dusk  she  crept  away ; 
But  I  am  light-hearted  yet, 
Since  I  never  can  forget. 

All  the  world  may  marvel  why 
Joyful  with  great  joy  am  I ; 
None  may  know  who  cannot  say, 
"Love  was  with  me  yesterday !" 


[44] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


AERE  PERENNIUS 

AS  long  as  the  stars  of  God 
Hang  steadfast  in  the  sky, 
And  the  blossoms  'neath  the  sod 

Awake  when  Spring  is  nigh ; 
As  long  as  the  nightingale 

Sings  love-songs  to  the  rose, 
And  the  Winter  wind  in  the  vale 

Makes  moan  o'er  the  virgin  snows- 
As  long  as  these  things  be 
I  would  tell  my  love  for  thee ! 

As  long  as  the  rose  of  June 

Bursts  forth  in  crimson  fire, 
And  the  mellow  harvest-moon 

Shines  over  hill  and  spire ; 
As  long  as  heaven's  dew 

At  morning  kisses  the  sod ; 
As  long  as  you  are  you, 

And  I  know  that  God  is  God — 
As  long  as  these  things  be 
I  would  tell  my  love  for  thee ! 


[45] 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


THE  GREAT  AND  SILENT  THINGS 

HOW  silently  the  years,  in  long  procession, 
Come  gliding  down  the  corridors  of  Time 

to  us ! 

O  quietly  they  come  and  take  possession 
Of  our  dear  youth,  and  weig'h  us  with  oppression  ; 
How  great  they  seem,  and  how  sublime  to  us ! 

How  softly  Love  into  the  heart  comes  creeping ! 

How  wonderfully  low  is  her  command  to  us ! 
She  wakes  the  soul  that  erstwhile  lay  a-sleeping, 
She  dries  the  eyes  that  were  but  lately  weeping, 

Revealing  all  her  Promised  Land  to  us. 

And  Death  !    O  with  a  velvet  tread  she  finds  us, 
And  teaches  us  her  awful  lore  and  mystery ; 

Like  sheaves  of  wheat  are  we  what  time  she  binds 
us, 

And  in  a  little  sheet  of  whiteness  winds  us — 
And  this  is  all  of  our  poor  history ! 

O  we  who  loudly  cry  our  names  in  chorus 

Across  the  mighty  years,  shall  sooner,  later, 
Go  humbly  back  upon  the  tide  that  bore  us 
To  this  brief  life,  as  men  have  gone  before  us, 
Softly  to  God,  silent  to  our  Creator ! 

[46] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


DISTANCES 

I   HAD  a  friend  who  went  away 
Over  the  distant  sea, 
But  hill  and  tide  can  never  hide 
His  gentle  face  from  me. 

I  had  a  friend — he  broke  my  heart, 

Yet  every  shining  day 
We  meet,  but  nevermore  clasp  hands. 

How  far  he  is  away ! 


[47] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


HAUNTED 

THERE  came  a  whisper  in  the  night, 
A  little  cry  across  the  years ; 
And  I  who  heard,  in  deep  affright, 
Awakened  with  unnumbered  fears. 

"It  is  some  deed  that  I  have  done, 
Some  sin  I  wrought  long,  long  ago : 

But  hush !  am  I  the  only  one  ? 
Wherefore  am  I  then  troubled  so  ? 

"For  all  men  do  some  evil  deed, 

And  some  men  falter,  some  men  fall ; 

Do  ghosts  of  Selfishness  and  Greed 

Come  back,  O  God,  to  haunt  them  all?" 

Then  came  a  whisper  in  the  night, 

A  little  cry  across  the  years ; 
And  I  who  heard,  in  deep  affright, 

Listened  with  wild,  unnumbered  fears. 

"I  am  the  ghost  of  that  pure  deed 
You  might  have  done,  but  did  not  do; 

I  am  the  ghost  of  that  good  seed 
You  might  have  sown  when  Life  was  new. 

[48] 


'AND    OTHER   POEMS 

"And  this  it  is  that  haunts  you  now, 
That  deed  undone,  that  seed  unsown; 

Too  late,  too  late  to  take  the  plough, 
The  Spring  is  fled,  the  May  is  flown!" 

And  this  I  heard  amid  the  night, 

This  voice  that  called  across  the  years, 

And  when  the  dawn  came,  silver-white, 
I  was  companioned  with  my  tears. 


[49] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


VILLANELLE 

THE  lilies  whisper  in  the  park, 
Pale  watchers  in  the  heavy  night, 
Wan  ghosts  that  haunt  the  fragrant  dark. 

How  pure  they  are !    Their  figures  stark 

Stand  as  if  waiting  for  Death's  flight — 
The  lilies  whisper  in  the  park. 

Beneath  the  blue  electric  arc 

They  crowd  in  long  battalions  bright, 
Wan  ghosts  that  haunt  the  fragrant  dark. 

I  lean  and  listen,  wait  and  hark ; 

Faint  phrases  float  on  pinions  light — 
The  lilies  whisper  in  the  park. 

The  city  sleeps.    I  pause  to  mark 

These  spirits  marshaled  for  my  sight, 
Wan  ghosts  that  haunt  the  fragrant  dark. 

Who  knows  the  language  of  the  lark? 

Who  gleans  one  word  from  flowers  white  ? 
The  lilies  whisper  in  the  park, 
Wan  ghosts  that  haunt  the  fragrant  dark. 


[50] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


I  COUNT  THE  DAYS 

I  COUNT  the  days,  beloved ;  but  not  those 
When  you  are  absent,  though  my  heart  well 

knows 

That  they  are  bleak  indeed.    Rather  I  say 
Unselfishly,  as  drifts  each  laggard  day, 
"Long,  long  ago,  in  Love's  eternal  Spring, 
We  sang  together,  and  new  hours  can  bring 
No  greater  rapture.''    I  am  ever  glad 
Of  those  lost  hours  of  beauty  that  we  had; 
And  if  within  my  heart  I  always  hold 
The  memory  of  their  shining  threads  of  gold, 
I  fear  not  when  you  tread  far-distant  ways.  .  .  . 
O  Love,  our  wondrous  past !    I  count  the  days ! 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


FULFILMENT 

THIS   was   my  dream  in  May — to  have  one 
bloom, 

Fragrant  with  apple-scent  and  Springtide  rain, 
Live  thro'  the  bleakness  of  the  Autumn  gloom, 
Awakening  all  beauty  in  my  room, 

Hiding  the  dismal  hills,  quenching  dull  pain. 

This  was  my  dream  in  youth — to  have  you  near 

When  the  dark  hours  of  age  had  crept  on  me ; 
To  have  you  at  my  side  when  twilight  drear 
Told  that  the  light  of  day  would  disappear ; 
To  have  you  love  me,  O  unswervingly! 

These  dreams  were  mine!  .  .  .  Dear  heart,  the 
night  is  nigh, 

No  single  flow'r  blooms  thro'  November  chill, 
And  you  are  vanished,  lost — ah !  who  knows  why  ? 
But  hush!  Far,  far  within  the  vaulted  sky, 

One  golden  bud — a  star — smiles  o'er  the  hill ! 


[52] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


RESURRECTION 

WHEN  one  had  gone  away 
To  join  the  quiet  dead, 
Bleak,  bleak  for  me  the  day, 

And  dark  the  clouds  o'erhead. 
"Her  voice  I  shall  not  hear  again, 
Nor  see  her  smile/''  I  said. 

Yet  when  the  Spring  winds  came 
The  sad  earth  to  beguile, 

I  heard  one  call  my  name 

Whose  voice  was  lost  erewhile ; 

And  when  the  early  violets  blew, 
Dear  God,  I  saw  her  smile ! 


[53] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


TILL  EULENSPIEGEL 

EULENSPIEGEL,  merry  lad, 
What  a  laughing  life  you  had ! 
Prank  and  jest  were  yours  by  right 
Or  at  noontide  or  at  night, 
And  the  simple  tricks  you  played 
On  the  spinster  and  the  jade 
Only  helped  sad  hearts  to  be 
Lighter  through  felicity. 

If  you  knocked  upon  the  door 
Of  a  house  you'd  missed  before, 
How  the  little  home  would  wake, 
Laughing  for  your  laughter's  sake ! 
Never  since  Time  was  begun 
Has  Life  frowned  on  harmless  fun ; 
Never  has  there  been  a  day 
Filled  too  full  of  foolish  play. 

Let  the  somber  folk  and  dense 
Laugh  at  your  young  innocence; 
Tricks  that  they  have  never  guessed 
(Many  a  little  quip  and  jest) 

[54] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 

Play  upon  them  till  they  take 
Long,  long  leave  of  grieving.    Make 
Plots  and  plans  of  such  design 
As  will  cause  old  eyes  to  shine. 

Trip  your  way  into  my  heart, 
Eulenspiegel !    Let  me  part 
With  the  sorrow  and  the  tears 
That  are  marching  down  the  years. 
Play  your  pranks  with  all  of  us, 
In  that  way  felicitous, 
Till  the  darkness  of  our  night 
Blooms  with  laughter  and  delight. 


[55] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


THE  POET 

BACK  of  his  splendid  song,  O  think  of  the 
songs  unsung! 
Back  of  his  painted  dreams,  the  dreams  that  he 

never  reveals ! 
Behind  each  lyric  of  rapture 
The  songs  that  he  cannot  capture, 
Save  for  his  own  delight,  to  keep  his  heart  still 
young ! 

But  the  songs  that  he  never  can  sing — 

Children  created  of  one  glad  song  that  tells  us 

what  he  feels — 

Some  day  they  shall  be  uttered, 
When  far  his  soul  has  fluttered, 
Sung  by  an  unborn  singer  in  a  new  and  wonder 
ful  Spring! 


[56] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


THE  FLAME 

OMOTH,  that  yearns  for  me, 
The  whole  world  pities  thee, 
Foredoomed  on  heedless  wing, 
By  mad  fire-worshipping. 

But  sadder  is  my  fate, 
Who,  when  the  night  is  late, 
See  thee  in  love  come  nigh, 
At  my  caress  to  die ! 

When  I  would  lend  thee  aid, 
To  death  thou  art  betrayed ; 
Yea,  I  that  love  thee  well, 
I  am  thy  heaven  and  hell ! 


[57] 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


IN  THE  MEADOWS  OF  THE  SKY 

WHEN  the  great  sower,  Night, 
Lets  down  his  sable  bars, 
He  goes  into  his  endless  fields 
To  plant  his  seed,  the  stars. 

And  then  the  wintry  Dawn 

Comes  with  her  icy  hand, 
And  blights  with  snowy  clouds  the  flowers 

In  that  wide,  heavenly  land. 


[58] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


THE  MOSQUES 

THERE  was  a  flower  in  ancient  Fez 
That  (so  the  glowing  legend  says) 
Has  never  lost  its  matchless  light 
From  Summer  dawn  to  Winter  night, 
Since  Allah  cast  his  pitying  glance 
Upon  the  city's  wide  expanse, 
And,  with  all  mercy  in  his  eye, 
Said,  "One  white  flower  shall  never  die." 

So  from  the  city's  forest  maze 

Pure  alabaster  domes  upraise 

Their  gleaming  beauty  through  the  dawn, 

Or  when  the  dusk  of  day  is  gone ; 

White  flowers  that  blossom  through  the  years, 

And  hush  a  people's  solemn  fears, 

Pale  blooms  of  wonder  that  shall  last 

Till  Time,  and  Life,  and  Death  are  past. 


[59] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


THE  WOMAN'S  WAY 

THERE  are  things,  I  know,  that  are  sad  and 
strange, 

As  the  world  swings  round  in  the  old-time  way ; 
O  Life  is  the  same,  though  the  seasons  change, 

And  laughter  and  tears  make  our  little  day. 
But  one  sad  thing  is  the  saddest  of  all, 

Filling  women's  hearts  with  old  regrets — • 
They  take  their  love  as  a  gift  from  above — - 
A  woman  remembers,  a  man — forgets  ! 

You  may  say  what  you  will,  a  woman's  heart 

Counts  all  as  loss  till  she  loves  and  lives 
In  the  golden  hours  that  seem  to  start 

A  new  white  world ;  and  she  always  gives 
All  that  she  has,  or  dreams,  or  knows — 

All  that  she  feels — and  she  never  regrets. 
She  gives  her  all,  yet  her  meed  is  small — 

A  woman  remembers,  a  man — forgets ! 

Men  love  to-day — and  laugh  to-night, 
Forgetting  a  heart  may  break  the  while; 

A  woman  loves  in  her  strength  and  might, 
A  man  forgets — at  another  smile ! 

[60] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 

And  the  sad,  mad  world  turns  swiftly  round, 
And  thus  shall  it  be  till  the  last  sun  sets ; 

A  woman  takes  love  as  a  gift  from  above — 
A  woman  remembers,  a  man — forgets ! 


[61] 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


IN  THE  NIGHT 

I  HEARD  the  footfall  of  the  hail; 
The  armies  of  the  sky 
Were  coming  down  amid  the  gale, 
And  rank  on  rank  marched  by. 

I  heard  the  thunder's  cannonade, 

The  beating  of  his  drum ; 
I  saw  the  lightning's  flashing  blade — 

The  hosts  of  heaven  had  come ! 

The  mighty  legions  crossed  the  roofs 
And  stormed  the  distant  hill ; 

Faint  grew  the  sound  of  tramping  hoofs, 
And  lo!  then  all  was  still. 

At  morn  I  saw  dead  crimson  leaves 
Far  o'er  the  wide  world  tossed ; 

And  now  the  lonely  Autumn  grieves 
For  all  that  she  has  lost. 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


HOPE 

THE  weariest  watch  must  sometime  end, 
The  dreariest  Winter  must  one  day  close, 
And  under  the  cover  that  wraps  the  earth 
Sleeps  the  Summer  rose. 

Did  the  Spring  e'er  fail  of  its  mission  sweet, 
After  the  rush  of  the  Northern  snows  ? 

Then  why  should  we  care,  since  under  the  earth 
Sleeps  the  Summer  rose  ? 


[63] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


LOVE  OF  BEAUTY 

WHO  loves  all  beauty  loves  beyond  that  we 
see; 

The  gods  give  him  a  vision  doubly  blest ; 
He  sees  the  bloom  upon  the  hawthorn-tree, 
But  blossoms,  too,  that  are  not  quite  expressed. 

He  hears  the  music  in  the  lyric  rain, 

The   lark's    enraptured   notes   that   wake   the 

dawn ; 
But  far  behind  them  one  diviner  strain 

That  is  not  uttered  till  the  first  is  gone. 


[64] 


AXD    OTHER 


THE  PROCESSION 

THE  gray  year  drifted  out 
As  a  tired  love  might  go, 
And  there  was  no  heart  to  breathe  a  song 

Across  the  leagues  of  snow. 
O  the  gray,  sad  year  went  out,  went  out, 
And  who  was  there  to  know? 

The  glad  new  year  came  in 

As  a  white  young  love  might  come, 

And  through  all  the  wrorld  I  heard  the  sound 
Of  welcoming  bell  and  drum. 

O  the  glad  new  year  came  in,  came  in, 
And  hearts  with  joy  grew  dumb. 

But  the  new  year  shall  go  out 

As  the  old  year  went  its  way; 
And  the  young  love  must  grow  very  old, 

Yea,  old  and  wan  and  gray; 
And  thus  shall  it  be  till  Time  and  Love 

Die  on  a  Winter's  day. 


[65] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


LOVE  AND  TIME 

1SAID,  "Love  laughs  at  Time,"  before  I  knew 
The  perfect  joy  of  wholly  loving  you ; 
So  swift  the  days  went  hurrying  to  that  Day 
When  we  were  one — Love  swept  us  on  the  way. 

But  now — Time  laughs  at  Love ;  for  swifter  yet 
Speed  years  that  seem  as  hours !     The  sun  will 

set, 

The  final  curtain  fall,  our  lives  be  done ; 
We  will  have  lived — long  years  that  seemed  as 

one! 


[66] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


AN  AUTUMN  LEAF 

UPON  my  parchment,  sadly  old, 
The  record  lives  of  Summer's  gold; 
And  in  my  veins  there  lingers  now 
The  joy  of  Spring's  awakening  bough. 

So  I,  like  many  a  human  heart 
Wherefrom  Life's  shining  days  depart, 
Keep  valiantly  some  remnant  yet 
Of  dreams  we  never  quite  forget. 


[67] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


ONE  MOMENT  OF  DOUBT 

Q  UPPOSE  you  should  forget, 
O     After  our  love  and  tears, 
To  wait  for  me  in  that  shining  place 
That  lies  behind  the  years ! 

Suppose  I  should  forget, 

After  my  lips  are  dumb, 
To  go  to  you,  O  heart  of  my  heart — 

Suppose  I  should  not  come! 

Never  yet  was  a  soul, 

The  past  remembering, 
But  who,  one  moment  in  the  dark, 

Doubted  the  coming  Spring. 

And  never  yet  was  one 

Who  on  this  earth  has  trod, 

But  for  one  instant  told  his  heart 
He  doubted  even  God! 

Wherefore  then  blame  me,  Love, 
That,  mortal  that  I  be, 

I  stand  one  moment,  lost,  dismayed- 
Then  face  eternity? 


[68] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


PARTING 

T    EAVE  me  some  fragment  of  our  love, 
JL/      Some  remnant  of  our  bliss, 
That  I  may  drink  the  joy  thereof 
Through  days  more  bleak  than  this. 

When  Summer  fares  forth  on  the  wind, 

Do  all  her  blossoms  go? 
Nay !    Some  white  flower  she  leaves  behind 

To  still  the  Autumn's  woe; 

And  all  her  dear  remembered  grace 

Lives  on,  because  of  this ; 
So  of  our  love  leave  me  one  trace — 

One  last  and  deathless  kiss ! 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


THE  ROOM 

NOW  that  my  heart  is  empty, 
Empty  of  you, 
I  marvel  at  the  fullness 
That  once  it  knew. 

How  deep  the  space  now  vacant, 

How  vast  and  wide ! 
Or  is  it  only  greater 

Since  Love  has  died? 


[70] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


AFTER  DROUGHT 

THERE  came  an  army  from  the  sky, 
And  surged  across  the  parched  plain ; 
I  saw  the  hurrying  hosts  go  by — 
The  blue  battalions  of  the  rain. 

O  mighty  army  (bringing  peace !) 

How  bright  your  helmets  seemed  to  shine! 
Your  cavalcades  brought  glad  release, 

For  God  was  Captain  of  the  line ! 


[71] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


INDIAN  SUMMER 

WHEN  Eve  grew  old, 
How  many  a  time  she  must  have  dreamed 

and  dreamed 

Of  her  lost  Eden,  with  gardens  all  of  gold, 
And  Springtide  winds  that  whispered  low,  and 

streamed 

Quietly  through  the  dim,  hushed  afternoon ; 
And,  gray  and  sad,  wept  for  her  vanished  June, 
Until  some  thought  of  her  lost  Paradise 
Lighted  her  old,  old  eyes  1 

So  now  the  Year, 

Banished  from  her  young  Joy  and  fragrant 

hours, 
Grown  feeble  with  much  longing,  sad  and  sere, 

Dreams  once  again  of  gardens  white  with  flow 
ers; 

And  as  she  turns  to  brood  upon  the  past, 
Weary,  autumnal  now,  and  old  at  last, 
Upon  her  face  there  shines  the  golden  glow 
Of  June,  lost  long  ago. 


[72] 


AXD    OTHER   POEMS 


AT  NIGHTFALL 

I  NEED  so  much  the  quiet  of  your  love, 
After  the  day's  loud  strife ; 
I  need  your  calm  all  other  things  above, 
After  the  stress  of  life. 

I  crave  the  haven  that  in  your  dear  heart  lies, 

After  all  toil  is  done ; 
I  need  the  starshine  of  your  heavenly  eyes, 

After  the  day's  great  sun ! 


[73] 


QUATRAINS 


[75] 


PREPARATION 

HOW  long  the  violets  'neath  the  snow 
Toiled  ere  they  breathed  the  Spring ! 
How  long  the  poet  dreamed  his  song 
Before  his  heart  could  sing ! 


[77] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


CERTAINTY 

SHE  knew  that  Love  was  dying — not  so  much 
When  Love's  dear  eyes  were'  closed  and 

blind  to  her, 

As  when,  with  patient  word  and  tender  touch, 
Love,  day  by  day,  alas !  grew  kind  to  her ! 


[78] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


THE  FRIENDS 

SHARE  not  thy  joy  with  me,  O  friend  the  best, 
Thou  may'st  forget  me  then — I  shall  not 

care; 

But  shut  me  from  thy  grief  the  bitterest, 
And  mine  own  grief  would  be  too  great  to  bear. 


[79] 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


A  WINTER  DREAM 

THE  host  of  flakes  that  float  thro'  leafless  trees 
When  pale  December  reigns  in  Autumn's 

stead, 

Are  but  the  pallid  ghosts  of  myriad  bees, 
Come  back  to  woo  the  roses  that  are  dead. 


[so] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


SEPTEMBER 

NOW  at  the  grave  of  Summer  stands 
A  priest,  in  purple  vestments  stoled, 
And  through  the  hills,  his  lifted  hands, 
There  runs  a  rosary  of  gold. 


[81] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


THE  GOOD  QUEEN 

PALE  ruler  of  the  heavens,  with  lavish  hand, 
The  spendthrift  Moon  arose, 
And  spilt  her  silver  out  across  the  land, 
Alike  on  friends  and  foes. 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


UNHAPPINESS 

HIGH  on  the  hills  the  miser,  Autumn,  sits, 
Hoarding  his  wondrous  wealth  of  treas 
ured  gold ; 

Yet  in  the  night  I  hear  his  grieving  voice 
In  every  wind  that  sweeps  across  the  wold 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


CARE 

SHE  leaves  upon  our  brows  her  written  sign, 
Where  all  may  read,  inscribed  with  perfect 

art; 

But  O  those  marks  the  world  may  not  divine — 
Her  hidden  tracings  on  the  human  heart! 


[84] 


SONNETS 


[85] 


THE  PROMISE 

SHE  said  to  him,  "Unless,  when  I  am  dead, 
From  out  the  green  sod  of  my  lowly  grave 
A  crimson  rose  should  rise  and  softly  wave, 
Whispering  words  like  those  my  poor  heart  said ; 
Unless  this  token  of  a  passion  fled 

Should  come  to  tell  you  all  that  you  may  crave, 
Then  you  shall  know  I  loved  you  not!     Be 

brave ! 
That  rose  shall  bloom,  and  you  be  comforted." 

But  when  she  died,  not  only  in  the  Spring, 
When  violets  wake,  and  in  the  deeps  of  June, 

Her  lover  saw  a  red  rose  lightly  blow ; 
Not  only  did  the  golden  Summer  bring 

Gifts  for  his  heart,  but  'neath  the  Winter  moon 
A  passion-flower  trembled  thro'  the  snow ! 


[87] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


CITY  CHILDREN 

PALE  flowers  are  you,  that  scarce  have  known 
the  sun ! 

Your  little  faces  like  sad  blossoms  seem, 
Shut  in  some  room,  there  helplessly  to  dream 
Of  distant  glens  wherethrough  glad  rivers  run 
And  winds  at  evening  whisper.    Daylight  done, 
You  miss  the  tranquil  moon's  unfettered  beam, 
The    wide,    unsheltered    earth,    the    starlight 

gleam, 
All  the  old  beauty  meant  for  every  one. 

The  clamor  of  the  city  streets  you  hear, 
Not  the  rich  silence  of  the  April  glade ; 
The   sun-swept   spaces   which   the   good   God 

made 

You  do  not  know ;  white  mornings  keen  and  clear 
Are  not  your  portion  through  the  golden  year, 
O  little  flowers  that  blossom  but  to  fade ! 


[88] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


AFTER  READING  KEATS 

DOWN    his    great    corridors    of    sumptuous 
sound 

To-day  I  wandered  once  again.     Each  word 
Seemed  like  the  lyric  rapture  of  a  bird 
Singing  in  Spring  above  the  burgeoning  ground. 
O  once  again  that  old  delight  I  found, 

Once  more  the  marvel  of  his  voice  I  heard, 

Until  my  spirit  with  new  joy  was  stirred, 

Hearing  such  music  through  his  halls  resound. 

How  beautiful  thy  palace,  Poet  blest! — 
That  room  wherein  is  set  thy  Grecian  Urn, 
Thy  Nightingale  that  sings  at  set  of  sun 
Out  in  thy  garden  where  my  tired  feet  turn ; 
And  in  one  chamber,  back  from  his  long  quest, 
That  passionate  lover,  young  Endymion ! 


[89] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


HOW  BRAVELY  NOW  I   FACE  THE 
MARCHING  DAYS 

HOW  bravely  now  I  face  the  marching1  days, 
With  Youth's   strong  armor  to  defy  the 

years ! 

Nought  now  I  know  of  the  sharp  sting  of  tears, 
Nor  of  the  bleak  and  solitary  ways 
Where  Sorrow  calls  her  children.     Nought  dis 
mays 

My  April  spirit ;  and  the  night  appears 
Like  some  far-distant  prospect  without  fears. 
Youth,  youth  is  mine,  and  youth's  strong,  fear 
less  gaze. 

But  when  the  twilight  shall  at  length  abide, 
And  I  have  neared  the  shadowy  bourne  and 

vast, 

How  will  it  be?  ...  Shall  the  night  overcast 
My  soul,  and  shall  my  sword  have  softly  sighed 
Back  to  its  scabbard  ?  .  .  .  Nay,  when  Youth  has 

died, 
Old  Age  shall  take  me  tenderly  at  last. 


[90] 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


A  BROKEN  FRIENDSHIP 

IF  this  be  friendship — that  one  broken  hour 
(O  fragile  link  in  all  the  loving  years !) 
Can  cast  our  hearts  asunder,  Time  appears 
Frightful  indeed,  since  all  our  vaunted  power, 
"Wherewith  we  built  high  hope,  like  some  strong 

tower, 

Crumbles  to  dust,  where  earthly  passion  leers. 
What  of  our  laughter  ?    Aye,  what  of  our  tears 
That    should    have    only    watered    Friendship's 
flower  ? 

If  this  be  friendship,  I  can  never  know 
Again  the  magic  faith  I  boasted  of ; 
One  deed  of  mine  has  crushed  the  house  of 
love, 

And  every  stone  to  its  old  place  must  go. 
Shame  be  to  our  endurance  if  we  killed 
The  sinews  that  can  help  us  to  rebuild ! 


[91] 


SONGS  OF  NEW  YORK 


[93] 


FIFTH  AVENUE  AT  NIGHT 

LIKE  moonstones  drooping  from  a  fair  queen's 
ears 

The  pale  lights  seem — 

White  gems  that  shimmer  when  the  dark  appears 
And  the  old  dream — 

The  ancient  dream  that  comes  with  every  night 

Through  the  long  street — 
The  quiet  and  the  shadows,  and  the  light 

Tread  of  far  feet. 


[95] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


BROADWAY 

HERE  surge  the  ceaseless  caravans, 
Here  throbs  the  city's  heart, 
And  down  the  street  each  takes  his  way 
To  play  his  little  part. 

The  tides  of  life  flow  on,  flow  on, 
And  Laughter  meets  Despair; 

A  heart  might  break  along  Broadway.  .  , 
I  wonder  who  would  care? 


[96] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


DOWNTOWN 

sun  has  gone,  and  from  the  ferryboat 
I       That  like  a  golden  worm  crawls  through  the 

night, 

I  watch  the  myriad  stars  that  round  me  float, 
And,  cityward,  the  honeycombs  of  light. 

Tier  after  tier,  they  blossom  in  the  dark, 

Miraculously  radiant,  while  I 
Think  of  the  toilers  bent  beneath  each  spark, 

And  breathe  a  little  prayer  for  them,  and  sigh. 


[97] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


NEW  BUILDINGS 

THE  turrets  leap  higher  and  higher, 
And  the  little  old  homes  go  down ; 
The  workmen  pound  on  the  iron  and  steel- 
The  woodpeckers  of  the  town. 


[98] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


THE  LIGHTS 

TEN  thousand  jewels  flash  out 
When  the  darkness  of  night  appears; 
But  O  I  sometimes  think  these  pearls 
Are  ten  thousand  people's  tears — 

Ten  thousand  tears  that  are  shed 

Through  the  terrible  strife  of  the  day, 

And  doomed  to  shine  through  the  city's  night 
Till  the  stars  have  faded  away. 


[99] 


THE    QUIET   SINGER 


TO  A  HURDY-GURDY 

(Playing  on  Sixth  Avenue) 

HERE'S  to  you,  brave  Hurdy-gurdy, 
Grinding  out  your  happy  tune 
While  the  traffic  round  you  rumbles, 
In  the  city's  Summer  noon. 

No  one  hears  you !    Yet  the  rapture 
That  you  feel,  despite  our  faults, 

As  you  gaily  give  the  measure 
Of  the  latest  merry  waltz ! 

Trams  are  rolling  all  about  you — 

How  the  Elevated  roars ! 
And  above  their  noise  and  tumult 

Your  thin  twanging  vainly  soars. 

Good  for  you,  poor  Hurdy-gurdy! 

Play,  unheard,  your  little  part; 
Would  that  I  could  sing  as  you  do, 

With  but  half  as  brave  a  heart ! 


[100] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS.  ; 


TRAFFIC 

HOOF-BEATS  thundering  on  the  paves, 
Wagons  crashing  by. 
(But  O  I  dream  of  distant  waves, 
God's  tent  of  open  sky!) 

Bells  that  clamor  all  day  long, 

Rush  and  roar  of  steam. 
(But  I  have  heard  a  robin's  song, 

If  only  in  my  dream !) 


[101] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


THE  VOICES 

1  HEARD  the  voice  of  the  city, 
Calling  again  and  again, 
And  into  her  arms  there  hastened 
Millions  and  millions  of  men. 

And  I  heard  the  voice  of  old  gardens, 

Of  quiet  woodland  ways ; 
But  few  there  were  who  would  heed  them 

In  the  rush  of  the  busy  days. 

The  cities  grow  old  and  vanish, 
And  their  people  faint  and  die ; 

But  the  gardens  are  green  forever, 
Forever  blue  is  the  sky! 


[102] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


NEXT  DOOR 

WE  saw  the  tapers  burn 
In  the  home  so  close  to  ours ; 
But  however  our  hearts  might  yearn, 

We  dared  not  send  our  flowers. 
"He  will  not  understand,"  we  said, 
"Our  loving  thought  of  his  loved  dead." 

O  City!  thus  you  hide 

The  pity  in  every  heart ! 
Those  who  are  at  our  side 

You  sunder  a  world  apart. 
A  little  barrier  built  of  stone — 
And  my  neighbor  grieves — alone,  alone ! 


[103] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


THE  PARKS 

THERE  are  green  islands  in  the  city  sea, 
Where  all  day  long,  the  endless,  passionate 

waves 

Beat,  yet  destroy  not ;  and  their  quiet  saves 
How  many  a  heart  grown  sick  with  memory ! 

Not  derelicts  alone  are  foundered  there, 

But  children  with  the  laughter  of  the  May — 
Bright,  living  flowers — in  these  glad  gardens 
play, 

Knowing,  yet  knowing  not,  the  town's  despair ! 

God  made  the  ocean,  where  tumultuously 

The  loud  storms  burst ;  and  Babylon  He  made ; 
Yet  all  the  hills  are  His,  dim  valley  and  glade — 

There  are  green  islands  in  the  city  sea. 


[104] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


A  CITY  SUNSET 

ACROSS  the  roof-tops  of  the  town 
I  saw  the  flaming  sun  go  down ; 
For  some,  another  day  of  tears 
Lay  buried  in  the  hurrying  years. 

The  shadows  folded ;  here  and  there 
A  yellow  light  began  to  flare. 
For  some,  another  golden  day 
Of  gladness  sped  upon  its  way. 


SONGS  OUT  OF  THE  ORIENT 


[107] 


A  BAGHDAD  LOVER 

(Being  Certain  Fragments  from  Scheherazade's 
Songs  in  "The  Thousand  and  One  Nights") 

(To  GEORGE  H.  CASAMAJOR) 
I 

O  QUEEN  of  Beauty,  who  hast  conquered 
kings, 

O  woman  wonderful,  in  pity  be 
Most  merciful  to  one  who  softly  sings 
Thy  matchless  glory ;  yea,  to  one  who  brings 
His  broken  songs,  sung  but  in  praise  of  thee. 

I  am  the  prisoner  of  thy  two  eyes ! 

Roses  nor  lilies  breathe  a  sweeter  breath 
Than  thou,  when  Dawn's  great  minarets  arise. 
Thy  breath  is  like  a  breeze  from  Paradise, 

Yet  languorous  with  the  mystery  of  Death ! 

The  Pleiades,  which  thro'  the  darkness  blaze, 
From  thy  great  orbs  have  filched  their  won 
drous  light. 

Only  the  stars,  with  their  undying  rays, 
Shall  make  a  necklace  like  a  golden  haze 
To  hang  about  thy  throat,  O  woman  white ! 

'[109] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


II 


To  kiss  her !    Tis  with  musk-perfume  to  grow 

Drunken  with  joy — delirium  to  know ! 

To  feel  her  body  bend  'neath  my  embrace, 

See  the  carved  marble  of  her  lily  face ! 

To  kiss  her !    I  am  drunk  who  have  no  wine — 

Wild  ecstasy,  wild  ecstasy  divine ! 

Dizzy  at  eve,  at  sundown  my  heart  sips 

The  perfumed  nectar  of  her  lips,  her  lips ! 


[no] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


III 


The  praises  of  her  beauty  I  shall  sing, 
Yea,  though  her  beauty  be  my  suffering! 

Lo !  one  to  me  hath  come  and  softly  said, 

"O  thou  who  with  Love's  sorrowing  hast  bled, 

"Rise !  Here  is  Life's  great  music,  Life's  guitar, 
Luring  thy  soul  to  some  exquisite  star !" 

And  I  have  said,  "How  can  my  poor  heart  sing, 
Since   I   have   felt  Love's   sharp   and  ceaseless 
sting?" 


[ill] 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


IV 


If  one  should  ask  of  me,  when  all  afire 

My  ravished  heart  might  be, 
"What  is  thy  wish,  thine  utmost  dear  desire — 

One  draught  from  some  cool  spring  to  drain, 

or  her  white  face  to  see  ?" — 
I  should  make  answer,  tho'  I  fainted  sore, 

Tho'  my  pale  lips  were  dry, 
"Let  me  behold  her,  ere  I  pass  the  Door ; 

Let  me  drink  of  her  pool-deep  eyes — drink  love, 
drink  love — and  die !" 


[112] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


So  much  I  love,  that  I 

Faint  with  the  joy  I  know ; 

Yea,  for  that  joy  is  pierced 
With  the  great  thorn  of  woe ! 

So  much  I  love,  that  I 
Envy  the  cup  she  sips, 

When  over-long  it  rests 
On  her  soft,  crimson  lips! 


THE  QUIET  SINGER 


vr 


What  morn  shall  find  thee,  O  departed  one, 

Under  the  fragrant  dew  ? 
Thou  hast  appeared,  O  gentle-hearted  one, 

Back  to  my  famished  view. 
Clad  in  white  vestments,  thou  who  hast  been  ban 
ished 

Out  of  this  lonely  place, 

I  saw  thee  once  at  dusk.  .  .  .  Now  thou  hast 
vanished, 

And  left,  alas !  no  trace ! 


t"4] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


VII 

The  myrtles  of  Damascus,  when  they  smile, 
Exalt  my  soul  to  some  remote,  high  place — 
But  O  thy  face ! 

Roses  of  Baghdad,  bathed  in  moonlight  dew, 
Make  my  heart  drunk  when  all  their  joy  it 

sips — 
But  O  thy  lips ! 


[US] 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


VIII 

O  form  to  which  the  palms  have  lent  their  grace, 
And  all  the  jasmines  given  their  perfume, 
What    lovelier    form    goes    wandering    thro' 
earth's  room? 

O  eyes  to  which  the  diamond  lends  its  light, 

And  night  its  radiant  stars, 
What  woman's  eyes  give  forth  a  fire  more  bright  ? 

O  kiss  more  sweet  than  honey  from  her  mouth, 
What  woman's  kiss  is  fresher  from  the  South  ? 

O  to  caress  thy  hair !  to  feel  my  heart 

Thrill  against  thine !  .  .  .  Then  to  gaze  in  thine 

eyes, 
And  see  the  stars  arise! 


[116] 


AND   OTHER   POEMS 


IX 


O  tomb!  within  thy  shadows  can  it  be 
My  dear  beloved  hides  away  from  me? 

0  tomb,  by  Allah,  tell  me,  lest  I  die, 
Is  all  her  beauty  vanished  utterly? 

Have  her  vast  charms  been  blotted  out? — her 

white 
And  pallid  brow  been  lost  in  thy  deep  night  ? 

Surely,  O  tomb !  no  bit  of  heaven  is  thine, 
Who  foldest  close  that  wondrous  love  of  mine. 

Yet  in  thy  depths,  thy  darkened  depths,  O  tomb, 

1  see  the  stars  shine  and  white  lilies  bloom ! 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


FROM  A  BAGHDAD  WINDOW 

(To  RICHARD  DUFFY) 

I 

LISTEN,  O  Love,  to  that  far-distant  strain, 
The  bulbul  sings  outside  the  city  gate. 
This  is  the  twilight  hour,  all  consecrate, 
When    his    poor    heart  with  love  is  full,  or 
strangely  desolate! 

Harken,  O  Love !    Is  it  a  note  of  pain 

That  passes  down  toward  sunset's  golden  bars  ? 
Lean  close,  lean  close!     Let  us  forget  life's 

scars, 
And  watch  for  night's  transcendent  train  of 

peace-bestowing  stars! 


[118] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


II 


I  shall  forget  the  day's  great  heat 
When  in  the  night  your  heart  shall  beat, 
In  rhythmic  measure,  close  to  mine, 
And  thro'  the  dark  your  dear  eyes  shine ! 

I  shall  forget  the  torrid  breeze 
That  swept  all  day  the  tall  palm-trees, 
When  in  the  night,  the  quiet  night, 
Your  lips  meet  mine  for  Love's  delight ! 


["93 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


III 


This  is  mine  hour  of  jubilation — this, 

When  my  hot  brow  grows  cool  beneath  thy  kiss ! 

I  am  the  weary  desert,  thou  the  dusk, 

Bringing  thy  peace  and  soothing  scent  of  musk. 

I  am  that  weary  waste  which  all  day  long 
Dreamed  of  thy  starshine  and  thine  evensong ! 


[120] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


IV 

Beloved,  see,  how  on  yon  minarets 
The  sun's  flames  leap  and  shine; 

And  see,  how  on  yon  towering  parapets 
They  glow  like  crimson  wine ! 

O  let  me  be  as  constant  unto  thee, 

As  steadfast  as  the  sun, 
Dawn  after  dawn  to  rise  from  dreams  and  be 

Glad  that  the  dark  is  done ! 


[121] 


THE   QUIET  SINGER 


What  night  with  all  its  pageantry, 

Its  web  of  golden  dream, 
Has  made  the  heavens  appear  to  me 

Fairer  than  your  eyes  seem  ? 

What  silver  of  the  early  dawn 

Has  made  your  throat  less  white? 

Give  me  your  face  to  look  upon, 
And  what  of  dawn,  or  night? 


[122] 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


VI 

O  dome  and  spire,  and  mosque  and  shrine, 

And  temples  built  of  gold 
May  lift  their  glory,  glint,  and  shine, 

Till  all  the  years  have  rolled 
In  chaos  to  that  brink  of  night 
When  Allah  says  the  world  shall  lose  its  wonder 
and  its  light. 

But  hush !  O  my  beloved  one ! 

For  our  great  love  shall  last 
Through  darkness  and  the  shadowed  sun, 

Till  Death  itself  has  passed. 
O  we  shall  love,  be  unafraid, 
When  this  pale  city  that  we  see  in  paler  dust  is 
laid! 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


A  LOVER  IN  DAMASCUS 

(To  AMY  WOGDFORDE-FlNDEN ) 

I 

FAR,  far  across  the  desert  sands, 
I  hear  the  camel-bells; 
Merchants  have  come  from  alien  lands, 
With  stuffs,  and  gems,  and  silken  bands, 
Back  where  their  old  love  dwells. 

O  my  beloved,  far  away 

Are  cities  by  the  sea; 
Yet  should  I  go  to  far  Cathay 
For  many  a  weary  night  and  day, 

My  dreams  were  still  of  thee. 


[124] 


AND   OTHER   POEMS 


II 


Through  the  old  city's  silence, 
Where  the  Abana  flows, 

O  harken  to  the  nightingale 
Sing  lyrics  to  the  rose! 

But  through  the  dusk  no  answer 
Is  ever  breathed  or  sung, 

Tho'  the  bird's  heart  with  pleading 
The  whole  long  night  is  wrung. 

Yet  well  the  lonely  songster 
Knows  that  the  red  rose  hears. 

.  .  .  Ah,  Love,  I  need  no  answer, 
But  let  me  see  your  tears! 


["5  I 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


III 


Beloved,  in  your  absence  I  have  told 
My  love  for  you  to  every  little  flower — 

Vermilion,  pink  and  purple,  red  and  gold — 
That  blossoms  in  our  fragrant-hearted  bower. 

And  should  I  die  ere  you  come  back  again, 
Would  not  the  rose  my  golden  vows  repeat  ? 

Yes,  every  bloom  would  whisper  through  the  rain, 
And  fling  its  perfumed  message  at  your  feet! 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


IV 


How  many  a  lonely  caravan  sets  out 
On  its  long  journey  o'er  the  desert,  Doubt, 
Yet  comes  back  home  laden  with  ivory, 
With  gold,  and  gums,  and  scarfs  from  oversea. 

So  went  my  lonely  heart  forth  on  its  quest ; 
Through    torrid    wastes    and    parched    ways    it 

pressed. 

Empty  and  sad  it  left  the  city  gate, 
But    came    back    with    your    precious    love    for 

freight ! 


[127] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


V 


If  in  the  great  bazaars 
They  sold  the  golden  stars, 
Beloved,  there  should  be 
A  necklace  strung  for  thee, 
More  wonderful  than  any  known  or  dreamed  of, 
Love,  by  me. 

If  wealth  could  buy  the  mist 
By  Dawn's  pale,  pearl  lips  kissed, 
Beloved,  there  should  be 
A  white  veil  wrought  for  thee, 
More  marvellous  than  that  faint  film  which  hangs 
above  the  sea. 


AND   OTHER  POEMS 


VI 


Ah !  when  the  dark  on  many  a  heart  descends, 

Our  joy  more  swiftly  runs ; 
Heart  of  my  heart,  our  great  love  never  ends, 

Though  set  ten  thousand  suns ! 

Allah  be  with  us  when  that  last  deep  night 

Shall  wrap  us  round  about; 
And  Love  be  with  us,  with  her  steadfast  light, 

When  Death  our  spark  blows  out! 


[129] 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


CERTAIN  FRAGMENTS  FROM  THE 
ARABIC 


YOU  who  are  wise  to-day, 
What  of  your  knowledge  when  Life's  little 

play 

Is  ended,  and  the  curtain  rustles  down — 
What  of  your  wisdom  then,  your  great  renown? 

Make  me  not  wise,  like  you; 

I  envy  neither  sage  nor  prophet  Jew. 

Beggared,  each  journeyed  here,  and  sought  for 

fame, 
And  lo !  went  forth  as  poor  as  when  he  came ! 


AND    OTHER   POEMS 


II 


I  did  not  know  the  nightingale  could  fling 
Into  one  song  the  whole  wild  soul  of  Spring ; 
I  did  not  know — until  I  heard  him  sing. 

I  did  not  know  that  Love  held  all  of  bliss — 
Yea,  all  that  ever  was,  and  all  that  is ; 
I  did  not  know — until  I  felt  your  kiss ! 


THE    QUIET  SINGER 


III 


O  in  that  hour  when  both  of  us  are  dead, 
When  all  of  Life  and  Love  at  last  is  said, 
Will  some  red  rose  bloom  o'er  our  graves  to  tell 
how  our  hearts  bled? 

Or  will  a  lily,  in  the  starlit  night, 
Lift  its  pale  wonder  and  its  waxen  light, 
To  tell  the  world  how  our  poor  hearts  loved  with 
a  love  most  white? 


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DEC    0    1934 

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ncr  so  197fc 

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t 

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U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


